


Ties That Bind

by ReneeMR



Category: Highlander
Genre: D/s, Drama, Duncan - Freeform, Established couple, Highlander - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marking, Methos/Duncan - Freeform, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Spanking, methos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-19
Updated: 2004-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReneeMR/pseuds/ReneeMR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos takes Duncan into the world of hardcore D/s.</p><p>10-19-04</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ties That Bind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Duncan wanted this, Methos reminded himself. This was to make his lover happy. It was Duncan's scene. Even though the Scot had absolutely no idea what to expect. He said that was the way he wanted it.

So be it.

Methos went to the owner of the club he'd taken Duncan to a few times. Ayla, the Dominatrix and owner of Gracelands, was absolutely delighted to help. Between the two of them, they concocted the most elaborate scene ever yet hosted at the club.

A FEW WEEKS LATER...

Methos and Ayla made a final walkthrough of the play area. Which had been transformed into a Renaissance themed theater-in-the-round.

There were three staging areas. First was a receiving chamber.

An enormous red leather chair with a footstool stood next to a 'fireplace.' Standing candelabras were set to the sides. A small desk held a vellum-paged leatherbound journal. A large chest sat next to the chair. Methos checked the contents. Everything he had requested was there.

The next set was a bathing chamber. A large copper tub would be filled with water and kept heated until it was needed. There was an armoire, a stout wooden bench holding a plethora of towels, and more standing candelabras. Again, the old man made sure everything that  
would be needed was in the armoire.

Last, was the master's bedchamber. A twin-sized fourposter bed had been specially built. It was carved and decorated in Renaissance style. The coverlet and hangings were ruby velvet. Heavily embroidered in gilt thread.

The bedside tables were adorned with ornate candelabra. A gilt treasure chest held scented oil and MacLeod's surprises.

Rich oriental carpets defined each area. Except for the bedchamber. The rug there was shaggy faux bearskin.

Around each set were small gilt chairs for the audience. It would be a most intimate gathering.

"Well, I think it will work." Ayla was impressed. And she had been in on the design. She smiled over at the man she knew as Adam Pierson.

Then she held out a small remote control. "This lets you control the lighting and the sound system." They had agreed the candles were just for atmosphere.

Methos took the device and played with it. There were spotlights set to illuminate each area. And certain key places. The large chair. The bath. The bed.

The music was period to the late sixteenth century.

"It's incredible," the old immortal said softly. "More than I imagined."

SEVERAL DAYS LATER...

"MacLeod, we haven't played in a while. I want you to fast for the next twenty-four hours."

Sometimes it was one of Methos' requirements. Sometimes it wasn't. He tried not to let the Highlander get bored. He watched as the Scot turned to look at him. There was just the tiniest bit of stiffness in Duncan's nod.

Duncan knew something was up.

Then again, he was the one to bring up doing a scene at the club. And he was the one who had left things in Methos' hands. It was about control. H is release of it. It was about becoming something other than who he was. And it was about being who he was. All together.

He had no particular problems with the order to fast. He got a water bottle and filled it up--he wouldn't let any food touch his lips. Fasting was a clue, though. It meant that whatever they did next, whenever they did it, it would be intense. It would be incredible. It would be awesome.

Such was the confidence of Duncan MacLeod in his lover and Dom.

Methos took him places he had never been before, places he had never known existed. The artistry with which the ancient could command Duncan's body, could bring responses that the Scot never knew he was capable. It amazed Duncan to no end.

Methos had been right from the beginning. It was addicting.

Duncan took another drink of his water and looked over at his lover. He and Methos would both be fasting in another way.

The ancient immortal wouldn't touch his Highlander. Not with so much as a fingertip. It was hard. Incredibly so. But the tension it created was vital to the success of the scene.

They slept apart that night.

THE FOLLOWING DAY...

Methos was gone early that morning. He had left a message that a car would pick MacLeod up at four that afternoon. The Scot was to follow any instruction he was given as if it were his Dom speaking.

Promptly at four MacLeod's doorbell rang. Waiting outside in the hall were two men in chauffeur uniform.

Neither spoke. They simply waited for the Highlander to precede them to the elevator.

Out in front of DeSalvo's was a gleaming white stretch Hummer. One of the men opened the door for MacLeod. Then got into the back seat with him.

The immortal was nervous. He had been since the evening before. The fact that Methos was staying away from him had him right on the very edge. He knew that whatever happened, it was, in fact, going to be incredible.

After reading the note, Duncan had realized that today was the day. It had to be the day. He'd agreed to a scene at the club. He knew that Methos had been working on it--or at least he suspected that Methos had been working on it--with Ayla.

He sat calmly enough as they drove away. Checking out the vehicle.

The windows were tinted so dark that no one could see in or out. There was a shield between the driver and passenger compartments.

The man sitting across from the Scot nodded. Then reached into his pocket and pulled out a blindfold. He looked at MacLeod for a moment, then leaned forward to put it on the man.

That done, he relaxed. And, he noted, their passenger was relaxing also. He smiled at MacLeod as his breath evened out. The man was slipping into his role already.

The short drive to the destination was made in complete silence.

A few minutes later the Hummer came to a stop and MacLeod was helped out and into a building. He was guided into a small room, and seated in a comfortable chair.

People spoke in low voices around him, but not so he could understand what they were saying. Then he was left alone for several minutes.

The door opened, and there were rustling noises. A woman spoke.

"These humble garments are for you to wear. When I'm gone, you can remove the blindfold and dress. When you're done, and the blindfold is back in place, someone will come for you."

The door shut again.

The woman had left three things. A white cotton pirate-style shirt, a traditional MacLeod tartan kilt, and a wide, black leather belt.

Duncan removed the blindfold and saw the clothing that had been laid out for him. He touched them for a moment then stripped carefully. He pulled on the white pirate shirt first, then the tartan, which he put on without any hassle. Then he put on the belt. He made sure everything was perfect. Every pleat on the tartan had to be just so, every fold where it was the most flattering. After all, he was dressing for his Dom, not for himself.

Finally satisfied that he looked perfect, and without having to be told to keep his hair down and loose around his shoulders, Duncan sat in the chair. He put the blindfold back on, securing it so that he couldn't see anything at all through it. He wasn't taking any half-measures here.

He concentrated on his breathing while he waited.

The door opened again. Two people entered silently. They took MacLeod by the arms and raised him from the chair. He didn't struggle. Why should he? This was what he'd been waiting for.

The people efficiently bound his arms behind his back, led him out into the hallway. Their steps were measured and slow so there was no danger of the Scot taking a misstep.

Coming to a stop, a door was opened. They walked through and stopped again. The door was closed. The two people holding MacLeod's arms moved him into the room.

There were sounds. Music was playing. Lutes, pipes. A quiet susuration, the product of several bodies moving ever so slightly. And of course, there was the frisson along his spine that told him another immortal was near.

MacLeod was stopped again. The blindfold removed.

It was dim. The only illumination came from a single candelabra. Methos, garbed in a deep burgundy-red velvet robe was seated at the desk. Writing in a journal.

For a moment he seemed to be ignoring the trio. But he had noticed Duncan's nervous glance into the darkness beyond them. Nothing could be seen of the other sets. Or their guests. It was as if this world he had created existed for them alone.

Yes, Duncan, he thought. Alone, but very much the main attraction tonight! Then the old man sat back and looked towards them.

"Well.?"

The man to Duncan's right gave the Scot a shove and sent him forward to his knees.

"'Tis the rebel Highlander, MacLeod," the man said in a sneering tone. Then he bowed. "Brought just as you commanded, Milord."

"Ah." Methos rose and approached. The robe swirled around him. Now it could be seen that the only ornament Methos wore was an enormous ruby pendant hung on a string of large mobe' pearls. The gems glowed in the candlelight.

The ancient immortal stopped in front of the Scot and reached down to tilt his chin up.

"Not so rebellious now, eh?" He smiled. "Now that I have you, what should I do with you? Hm? You may speak, Highlander."

For a moment Methos wondered if his lover had been struck dumb. He seemed to be mesmerized by the ruby pendant. But then Duncan collected himself. Methos hid a smile. The man was amazing. Again, the ancient found himself wondering what MacLeod saw in him.

"I assume ye'll be killin' me," the Highlander pulled out the Scots accent on purpose. "After all the trouble I've caused ye. And I'll die happy knowin' I caused ye as much trouble as I ought."

He looked away, though it was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life.

Methos turned and went to sprawl in the enormous red-leather chair. At a signal, the two guards had MacLeod up and were holding him between them. Another signal, and the Scot was brought close and again made to kneel before their Lord.

"Kill you? No. There would be no...satisfaction in that. At least not until you've paid for the inconvenience you've caused." Methos reached out and caught his captive's chin and forced him to look back up.

"Your countenance is not displeasing. As it happens, I'm in need of a bed slave."

Duncan had to fight natural desire, natural emotions. His body's need to be Methos' bedslave. Oh yes, his body wanted it very much. But for the role he currently played, he had to fight that need. He knew he wasn't really fooling anyone. The people who knew him well knew how his body was responding to Methos' decree. But he was playing a role and he wasn't going to make it that easy on him.

"I'll nae whore for ye," Duncan declared, letting the 'r' in the word 'whore' roll merrily off his tongue. "I'm nae a woman to be bedded at your whim, Lord or no."

He flashed a challenging glare at his lover. God, he wanted Methos so bad he could barely see straight. Duncan wanted to fall to the ground, lift his kilt and feel his master buried deep within him. But he couldn't give away the game so soon. Oh, no. He couldn't.

Magnificent. There was no other word that fit. Methos stared into dark-flashing eyes as MacLeod challenged him. It was almost...almost believable.

Certainly passionate. Definitely passionate.

"You'll nae find me so easy," the Highlander declared. "You'll have t'kill me."

Duncan wanted to surrender. But surrender was out of the question. For now. Let me hold out, he prayed silently. Let me hold out.

Methos laughed, and let go his captive's chin. "We'll see. We'll see."

The guards dragged MacLeod up again and back several feet. Methos rose from the chair. The old man hit a switch. The whole thing turned to reveal that the back side was a whipping post.

Duncan continued to look willful, to look defiant. The men took his arms and dragged him back and he struggled just a little, at least enough to make it look good. He was so hot, though, on fire already with need and want and desire and lust. H e knew, too, it was going to get worse before it got better. Or, maybe, that was get better before it got better? Though he acted defiant, his body wanted this. He, Duncan MacLeod wanted this!

A button-push to the remote in Methos' pocket, and a spotlight came on to light the chair and the large chest.

The ancient man had his back to the audience. He opened the chest and toyed with the contents. But he was watching MacLeod as his first surprise was revealed.

His lover was being manacled spread-eagle to the chair.

Duncan struggled, and for good measure threw out some blistering Gaelic oaths. Oaths that he didn't mean at all. They were, after all, for show.

MacLeod's passionate reaction to being bound to the chair had Methos on the verge of laughter. The ancient man pretended not to understand. But the green glinting in his eyes gave away his knowledge. And the fact that he loved Duncan MacLeod more than his own life.

Then, just for fun, Duncan told Methos, in a blistering tone, but still in Gaelic, that he loved him. It wasn't as though anyone else watching would be fluent in the language. He struggled violently, and then went silent. Pretending defiance to the end though his body screamed to have Methos touch him. It was hard to keep from reacting in the way that he wanted to react.

The Scot's last Gaelic tirade was almost too much for Methos. He had to look away as MacLeod loudly and vehemently swore how much he loved him.

"Ye may force me," the Scot suddenly added in English, for the benefit of those watching. "But I'll ne'er be willing."

"Never say 'ne'er,' my brave Scots ram," Methos said softly. He turned back to MacLeod. "I, on the other hand, have no doubt that you will be tamed."

The old man slowly crossed to stand to one side of MacLeod. Then he reached around and loosened the man's belt. When he did, the kilt slipped from the Scot's body to lay puddled at his bare feet.

"Hm." Methos looked his lover over. The white shirt was large. MacLeod was still modestly covered. But it was no ward against Methos. Holding the belt in his left hand, he used the right to caress his captive's erection. He leaned in close.

"Last chance, *ciall*," he whispered the Gallic love-name he's given Duncan. "Once we start, there's no stopping. No safe word. Do you want this, beloved?"

Duncan took a deep breath as he turned to look up into those beautiful, exquisite, hazel eyes and he only barely managed to keep from losing control. Did Methos know how finely tuned Duncan was at the moment? Did he know how close he really was?

Of course the old man did.

And as far as the the option of stopping--nothing on this planet would have let him stop what was going on. He wanted this. He needed this. He would no sooner stop this than he'd stop breathing.

"I want this," he whispered to Methos. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

He wasn't sure how he'd survive it but he was going to. He would take this to the end--for both of them--because he loved Methos that much.

"I love you," he said clearly in Gaelic. But only loud enough for Methos to hear.

Then he started struggling with the manacles, and trying to ignore Methos' hand on his erection.

"I love you, Duncan." Methos' words were whispered. Barely more than a breath across his lover's ear.

Those whispered words - as good as wine on his lips--were all Duncan needed to know that he had made the right choice. As heightened as his senses and emotions were at the moment, having the acknowledgement of Methos' love, he knew he could make it through this. He loved this man more than life itself. And he wanted this very much.

"Fight me all you want, Highlander," Methos said loudly. He ran his hand over his prisoner's body. Still covered by the shirt, the audience could only guess what he was doing to cause his captive to struggle so.

Duncan took a deep, calm, steadying breath even as he felt Methos' hands all over his body under the shirt. He writhed, struggling with the manacles, more out of a desire to touch Methos as well. Forbidden, he knew. And not within character either.

He managed a glare as he tried to struggle free of Methos' constant touches, which seemed to make his erection all the harder.

Methos backed off after just a few moments. He waited. Knowing the suspense would heighten all of his lover's senses.

The Highlander turned his head resolutely away.

But Methos knen his lover well. MacLeod's glare spoke volumes. Every word one of love and confidence. Trust. He trusted his lover. Methos felt a surge of love and protectiveness for his Highlander.

"You will yield to me, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. Yield. For I have your family. Your Clan. Your entire village in my grip." He made a fist and brought it before the Scot's eyes.

The heat in his lover's eyes was seering the Scot, it was tearing him up inside. Hearing his lover's voice, hearing the command, the absolute authority in his voice made Duncan harden even more. His body didn't want to resist its inclination to give into whatever Methos wanted to do to him.

Managing another glare, Duncan shot a defiant look when Methos suggested that he would kill his family and clan.

"Ye won't dare!" he protested.

"Perhaps you need some proof that I mean business?"

Just then Methos grabbed the back of Duncan's shirt and tugged. The basted seam easily parted. Leaving the shirt still covering MacLeod's arms and chest. But leaving his back and buttocks exposed.

The ancient man recognized the sighing of the audience, and smiled to himself.

Duncan gasped as his shirt was torn up from the back. He felt the slightly cool air of the air around them brush across his bare back and buttocks.

Methos slapped the belt across the arm of the chair. It made a loud echoing smack on the leather. "Now, my Scots ram, my pet, I want you to count. I think twenty blows...to begin." The ancient grinned at Duncan's reaction. Including his glare.

The ancient man drew back his arm. Swung back and delivered the first smack across his lover's ass.

"I'll nae..." Duncan started to protest again, but then the belt slammed down onto his bare ass. He managed to hold in the shout that he wanted to loosen. He hadn't meant to count, either. After all, wouldn't it make it a little more interesting if he was still defiant? If he failed to give his Master what he wanted?

But the word burst from his lips anyway. "One!"

Methos stopped and stepped back to give their audience a good look at the crimson streak decorating his lover's ass.

There were definitely some appreciative murmurs.

Then he laid a cool hand on MacLeod's right cheek. "Good. Very goodpet. Only nineteen more to go."

The ancient leaned forward. "Scream. Yell. Beg, my love," he whispered. "But you may not come. Do you understand? Can you control yourself, pet?"

Methos was giving his lover the freedom to choose. Selfcontrol. Or binding. "One warning, *ciall*. You come, and the scene ends..." Again his words were whispered for MacLeod alone to hear.

Duncan knew this was the ultimate control any Dom had over a submissive. Now he had to decide if he could trust himself to maintain that hard, painful, erection without release of any kind, even in the height of the pain being bestowed upon him. And God, he loved the pain.

Methos held his breath as he waited for his lover to reply.

"Yes, Methos," Duncan whispered, softly. "I'll control myself."

Or else be bound. There was something to having himself bound, to having Methos' control forced upon him. But he wanted to honor his lover. He would do anything to make sure the scene didn't end. To hear the reaction of the unseen crowd around him. To know that they could see him, but he couldn't see them.

"Very good, pet." Methos ran a hand through MacLeod'd long hair. Giving the mane a sharp tug, he stepped back.

"Ready!"

Methos drew back the belt again and worked methodically up and down MacLeod's buttocks and upper thighs. Of course, the marks from the first blows were already healing, fading. He sighed.

Duncan had to grit his teeth. He had to yell. And he did beg Methos to stop, to just please stop. It was mostly a distraction, to keep himself from giving way to his erection, to disappointing his lover. Even with Immortal healing his ass and thighs ached and the vivid memory of other beatings he'd received had surfaced.

But this was different. It was pleasure. It was pleasure he couldn't give way to. That, perhaps, was the thing that got to him the most. He wanted to bliss out--he had learned the pleasure of making the pain pleasure. But this time he couldn't.

"Here it comes, Highlander," Methos murmured.

The room echoed with the last crack of the belt across the Scot's upper thighs.

"Twenty," Duncan gasped. Finally it was ended.

The two guards reappeared from out of the darkness to loosen the Scot. Methos moved towards his desk, and dropped the belt across it. When he looked back, MacLeod was again on his knees. Had been turned to face him. Methos looked his prisoner over. The ruined shirt still hung from his lover's arms. Covering him from the waist down.

Duncan stared up at Methos as he tried to catch his breath.

"As you see, Highlander, I keep my promises. Again, I offer you a choice. Do I take the lives of all you love, your Clan? Or do I take you?"

"Quickly, boy, what will it be?" Methos fingered the huge ruby that hung as a pendant on his chest. He waited in silence to hear the Scot's answer to his ultimatum.

Duncan stared up at Methos and spoke in a strong voice. "Me," he said, softly. "Spare my clan, my Lord."

Duncan hoped this was the moment when Methos wanted him to surrender. At least partially.

The ancient nodded. "You've chosen well, my pet."

Without a word, the guards helped MacLeod to his feet. Methos moved in front of his lover. "I have your word that you will be my bed slave. And for this, I will spare your people."

Methos waited for the Scot's sworn oath. He had no doubt what his answer would be.

Duncan hung his head a moment and took a deep breath before he spoke again. He really did hurt.

"You have ma oath, ma Lord," he said in a voice tinged with reluctance that he didn't feel at all. In fact, his body responded quite well to his words, to his surrender to the man before him, his lover. "I am...I am your bed slave, my Lord."

The Scot hung his head again, surrendering, knowing that he had pleased Methos with his words.

The old man clapped his hands, and two women in drab garb appeared.

"My new pet needs grooming," he told them. "Take him away and prepare him for me."

The women curtsied to the Lord, then took over the Scot from the guards. The two men moved onto the bath set and lit the candles. The lights on the first set dimmed and went out.

As the women drew MacLeod away, Methos extinguised the candles on the desk. The audience moved to take their new places.

The bathtub stood in the middle of the second set. Duncan took another deep breath. It was so intimate, being washed by another person. He didn't know the women that were working with Methos for this scene. Not that it mattered. He'd agreed to anything the ancient had wanted.  
And if this was what Methos wanted, he'd have it.

The Scot's hands were set free, and the remnants of his shirt was removed. Revealing him in all his rampant male glory.

Duncan inhaled sharply. He stood naked before the audience that surrounded him, before the women in the room. He stood proudly, for the first time unashamed to let others see him as he was. Perhaps it was the fact that he was erect, standing firm, so that everyone could see, that made him blush a little.

He waited for the someone to tell him what to do. He had a suspicion it would be something he wasn't going to like.

The sighs and appreciative noises from the audience were louder than ever.

Methos stood in the dark and drank deeply from a large glass of water. He removed the velvet robe. Leaving him clad in a white silk poet's shirt, black hose and breeches. And the pearl and ruby pendant.

Ayla rose from her seat and went over to him. "Adam," she whispered, "you have them so hooked. And Duncan! Well, he's totally into it."

The ancient immortal only had eyes for the Scot. But he nodded. "He doesn't even realize the maids are club regulars. Oh, here it comes..."

On the set, the maids had directed the nude Scot to lie back on towels that had been spread on the sturdy bench. One went into the armoir for supplies. The other went to dip up a basin of warm water.

It soon became apparent that the first step in making the Scot presentable was shaving. Everywhere.

Methos tensed. Waiting to see what his lover's reaction would be.

Duncan nodded obediently and lay back onto the towels atop the bench, slightly tense from his desire to control his erection and his responses. It was, he thought, the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. He hadn't expected to be separated from Methos like this. In fact, he had been sure Methos would do everything. Perhaps that was why Methos wasn't, and other people were. Others that he didn't kn...

He nearly froze on the couch as he looked up at the woman who was shaving his face. He really should have known that the women would be ones he knew.

And damned if he didn't get even harder. He'd thought it was impossible, but he was in even more agony. Still, he played the part-and lived the part--of a young man who had surrendered himself to the fate of being a bed slave. To doing what it took to save his Clan.

He was all sensations just now as the women shaved him. His face. His chest. Under his arms. He would be completely hairless by the time they were done. Except for the long mane of hair on his head. He quivered under the women's care and touch. His body one large nerve ending.

Ayla looked over at Adam. Then back at the incredibly naked man being so effectively humiliated by being shaved.

"You are a scheming, manipulative bastard," she whispered.

"Thank you. But there's more..."

"Oh. My. God." Ayla wasn't sure she believed what she was seeing.

Methos held his breath in anticipation.

The women had worked in tandem to make their charge as smooth as a newborn babe. They were careful to keep their pleasure at handling such a fine submissive from showing. Too much.

"Up now, Highlander," the first woman said. "His Lordship wants you perfectly clean."

She directed MacLeod to bend over the bench while the second woman dipped out another large bowl of water and set it beside him. Then she went over to the armoire and came back with a jar of scented ointment and a reproduction clyster bag.

Duncan didn't think he had ever been so hairless before in his life. He moaned in pleasure, his body heating even more at the touch of the women. He was having to seriously fight for control now. He didn't want this to end. He didn't want this to stop until it was over, until he had earned his release. The agony he would deal with, subvert, make a part of the pleasure that would surely, come later.

He followed the two women's direction. Not really considering what was coming next. At least not until he saw what they had. The Scot inhaled sharply when he realized what was about to happen.

An enema.

He was being given an enema. In public. In front of everyone that had been invited here.

He mentally called up the list he'd signed at the beginning of this new relationship with Methos. Remembered that this was on the list. Methos had been saving it up, obviously, for now.

Duncan moaned again and took a deep breath. His arms shook as he leaned forward. Shook with the force of his control. He mentally cursed over and over again, using every language he knew. Tried his best not to react.

The woman made the procedure as painless as possible. Carefully anointing the device's tip with the ointment, then her index finger. Her companion parted MacLeod's ass cheeks to reveal his anus. A gentle finger went smoothly into the man's rectum. Then the large-bore tip was inserted and the water allowed to gush in.

When the warm water started to rush into him, the Highlander turned a bright red from abject and utter humiliation. He had to struggle, to actually bite on his bottom lip, to keep from orgasming. It seemed to go on and on, the warm water flushing inside of him. The nozzle brushing against his prostate.

He turned a brighter red than he had before. He actually whimpered, holding the water inside of him. The humiliation of the moment washed over him, but had no effect on his erection. His body quivered even more, but he was determined. More determined than ever to hold on. To make Methos proud of him. He whispered over and over again, in Gaelic, in French. "I love you, Methos. I love you Methos."

The women had set a small hourglass where the Scot could see it. Then they went about straightening and putting things away while MacLeod held his position.

Finally, the five minutes were up and the chamberpot was brought out.

Duncan moaned again in agony as he held the water. Being touched so intimately by the women, having that part of himself exposed to those that were watching was the most humiliating thing he had ever done in his entire life. Being so revealed to others. He could only shake as he held his position for what seemed to be forever.

He was almost relieved to see the chamber pot - except that it was something else that was private that he was having to do publically. The Scot didn't hesitate to do what had to be done.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks from the control he was having to exert on himself as he finally let loose. He was gasping when it was done, biting on his lip to keep from coming. Forcing his strained and straining cock to not, absolutely not, do anything further.

When he was finally empty he nearly collapsed. But Duncan stayed where he was until he was given permission to move.

Methos had come closer to the set to watch his lover's face. Oh, god. Duncan was crying. His Scot had been reduced to tears. He glanced at Ayla. Tears sparkled on her eyelashes.

"Oh, Adam, what a triumph. He could lose it now, and it would still be magnificent."

When the Highlander was allowed to rise, he decided he wanted to thank the ladies. To fall at their feet and thank them profusely for cleaning him, for making him ready for Methos.

So, he did.

He kissed their feet. Thanked them in a humble, reverent, voice, that nearly broke as he spoke. He was almost overcome by the need to debase himself before these women.

Methos and Ayla both nearly gasped aloud when MacLeod went to his knees and made obeisance. Then kissed the maids' feet. But neither had words to express their feelings at that moment.

The women bent to help the Highlander up. Then they led him to the copper tub. Helped him into the warm water, then they each took a sponge and began to wash him with a mild castile soap.

After rinsing him, they helped him out of the tub and dried him off. Still naked, they led him to the third set. The bedchamber.

The candles beside the bed were burning. MacLeod was left standing at the foot of the bed. As the maids backed away, the bath-set candles were extinguished.

The room was dark and silent. The Highlander stood alone in a pool of candlelight.

Duncan took a deep breath. Another. And still another, out of someforlorn, vane hope that he might, somehow, get some sort of control over how he felt at the moment. His whole body was still on fire from the enema and the bath. From being cleansed thoroughly inside and outside. The dark haired Scot stood at the end of the bed inside of the room, thoroughly shaken--and totally in awe of how this whole thing had made him feel.

Methos stepped out of the shadow to join him. "I see my little pet can follow orders," he said in a snide tone. "At least the easy ones."

Duncan's breath caught in his throat as he looked at the beautiful man that claimed him as his own. "Aye, my Lord," Duncan spoke softly. "Ye've given me n'choice, no real one. I'll do what I must so that m'family will be safe."

He bowed his head; he knew a very large number of submissive positions. Methos had been showing him, painstakingly, for the last several months. But he took none of them. He still played the slightly defiant Scottish Warrior. Remaining here only to keep his clan safe from the evil Lord.

The ancient immortal sighed dramatically. "So, still defiant, Highlander? I do not care for defiant in my bed. It seems, my Scottish ram, I must break you."

Methos reached out and spun his lover to face him. "Or tame you, pet!"

He smiled. He had decided to give his lover some help. The old man pulled out a long length of blue silk ribbon. "But first, I'd like to see my pet prettied up."

Without another word, he took his lover's erection in hand. Expertly wound the ribbon behind and around his balls. In effect, creating a very striking-looking cockring. He tied the ribbon in a bow just behind Duncan's balls.

Duncan would have kissed Methos if it hadn't been a terrible break of character. He really wanted to--to lay down on the bed and let Methos pound into him until he couldn't breathe. But obviously, they weren't there yet. Duncan continued to stand proudly, even as Methos wound and wound and wound the blue ribbon around his balls and cock, making a lovely binding. And making it impossible for Duncan to alleviate the pressure in his cock in any way whatsoever.

He waited. Proud, defiant in his stance. Even if the rest of his body wanted to give way to his need and desire. He found he truly liked being so exposed. To stand without a stitch, except the new improvised cockring,on him. His body ready for whatever Methos chose to do to him next. He knew that he'd never be able to hide from his friends again, not ever. Maybe some of them were truly seeing him for the first time.

In the meantime, he waited, standing there exposed.

Methos could feel his lover's inner turmoil. He wanted to be strong. Yet, there was still so much more to come.

The old man ran his hands over MacLeod's chest. Turned him, and ran his hands over his back and down to his muscular buttocks.

"Very nice, pet. Everyone will know who you belong to. Now, time for a little more discipline."

Methos grabbed MacLeod and pulled him over to the bed. He sat, and dragged his captive over his lap. He walloped the bare ass presented so enticingly.

Duncan struggled against being held on Methos' lap with his bare ass stuck up into the air. At the first stinging blow he let out a surprised shout.

"Ah. Just imagine, pet, I could take you into the Great Hall and do this there. Or what if I took you before the King? Think he would be amused?"

"I don't know, my Lord," Duncan grit his teeth. He hoped he sounded as though he was humoring Methos. The Scot felt his erection was straining again. If it weren't for the make-shift ring restraining him, he was pretty sure he wouldn't make it. Thank God Methos had taken precautions!

"Wrong answer, pet." Methos whacked Duncan a couple of more good blows. And was surprised at his lover's yelps. He hadn't expected to hear a sound out of Duncan. At least not this soon. He readjusted MacLeod on his lap. Making sure nothing was being pinched. He didn't want to hurt his lover. Well, not like that, any way.

"I've never met the King, my Lord." Duncan didn't yell after Methos readjusted him and continued spanking him. He was converting the pain now, turning it into pleasure. When they'd played before he had always liked being spanked like this. Doing it in front of a crowd,  
such an intimate act, was even more heady.

Methos chuckled. No. His Highlander had not yet met the king. Maybe, some day, the old man would tell him about one particular escapade.

"He'd like it," Duncan whispered, making up his mind. "The King...he'd...be amused..."

"Yes. I think he would at that," Methos agreed. He chuckled again.

And continued the spanking. Except now he had slowed the pace. And would vary the intensity and the angle. Sometimes he would stoke and fondle between strikes. It was his intention to drive his Highlander to beg to be taken.

If the way his captive was wriggling across Methos' lap was any indication, it might be sooner rather than later.

Duncan was aroused. And not only by the eroticism of his lover's action. He wondered if anyone watching them was aroused, seeing him this way. Seeing how masterful Methos was in commanding him. In the way that he spanked Duncan over and over again.

The Scot went silent, taking his punishment with grace. All the while aware of another pain in his groin, from the strain on the cockring around his balls. And getting more and more desperate as Methos continued to spank him. His ass was burning--not hot--but burning and tingling. He wasn't sure how long Methos had spanked him when he finally cried out.

"Master, please!" His voice was strained. "Please, please take me, Master, please..."

Close. The Highlander was so close. Methos stopped.

Duncan was desperate for a lot of things. Desperate to have Methos inside of him. Desperate to be allowed to relieve the pain in his erection. Desperate to have Methos continue spanking him until he was crying. He was close to that now. He wanted Methos to stop and keep going. He couldn't lay still either. He just wanted it to go on and on and on. And he wanted it to stop.

"Master... Please...please... I'm yours, Master..."

"Yes you are, Highlander." Methos let the Scot slip to the floor as he stood and walked away from him. Ignored him completely as he went and filled a goblet and drank. Refilled it, and went over to kneel beside his lover.

"Drink, pet." He held the cup to the Scot's lips.

Duncan took several shaky drinks from the goblet. He felt the tingling in his rear give away to Immortal healing. In a way it always seemed to be over too soon. The pain that he had worked so hard for going away just because something in his system said he should heal. He didn't know what else Methos had planned for him. He was sure the drink was just giving him a breather until Methos prepared for the next step of their scene.

"Thank you, love," he whispered when Methos offered another sip. He took a deep breath. He was starting to relax a little, but not much. He knew the night wasn't over yet. He didn't want it to be over yet.

Duncan went into one of his submissive positions. One of the most submissive he knew.

Methos set the goblet aside after draining the last of the electrolyte-laden juice. He rose, leaving the Scot groveling on the floor and went to the large chest.

He came back with more of the blue silk ribbons. "Kneel up, pet. I have more pretties for my fine ram."

Methos fastened loops he would use later around his lover's wrists and ankles. Raised him up. He looked into MacLeod's face. Then ran a callused finger across the pouty lips.

"They tell me my ram has plowed many a ewe," he said conversationally. "Tell me, do you enjoy your women?

"Answer, pet. Or I shall be displeased..."

Duncan froze.

His chocolate brown eyes clouded over slightly as he stared in disbelief. Methos wanted to know about his love life now? In front of all of these people?

Duncan paled slightly. He didn't mean to put on such a display, not if it made Methos look bad, but he was shaken. It was, however, a question he had been commanded to answer. The long-haired Immortal bowed his head slightly until he had his composure back. So he could answer his lover in a clear voice.

"Yes, My Lord," he answered honestly. "I enjoyed them." It was the truth. Simple, straight and to the point. He had enjoyed the women he had made love with. There had been very few intimate experiences he hadn't enjoyed.

He really hoped that Methos wasn't going to ask for names. And he wished he knew why Methos had asked to begin with.

"Good. Good, pet." Methos ran his hands through MacLeod's hair and down across his shoulders.

Then he leaned forward and kissed his lover's full lips. Teasing them until he could slip his tongue into the hot mouth.

Duncan was gasping. Ready to beg Methos to do anything, anything at all if he would just let him come. He'd never had to go so long, especially with so much stimulation, before in his life. Sometimes he thought he would break down and weep and beg his Master to please, to please let him come.

"Do you like that, pet? Is that how you kissed your women?" He let his hands move down the firm pectorals to tweak and fondle rock-hard nipples.

"And this? Did your women ever do this for you?"

Methos' hands on his body were absolute exquisite torture. Duncan didn't want him to stop. He could melt into a puddle at Methos' feet. It was perfection. Now, if he could just alleviate the suffering in his cock, his groin. He was so tense. Yet he loved having Methos touch him. Use him.

Methos continued working his way down the Highlander's body. Teasing. Kissing. Touching with firm, warm hands.

Until finally he reached his lover's bound erection and began to loosen the ribbon. He stopped, and looked into MacLeod's eyes. Methos used his special name for Duncan.

"You have my permission, *ciall*."

He pulled the ribbon away.

Tears sprang to Duncans eyes. Methos didn't have to touch him again because Duncan orgasmed then and there.

Methos stepped back as MacLeod practically exploded. It was--unbelievable. Incredibly, awesomely erotic. here was considerable movement in the audience. And some clearly audible comments. Methos ignored them.

Duncan seemed to have to fight to keep from sagging to his knees. When he was done, the Highlander took the old man's hand and kissed it profusely.

"Thank you, Master, thank you," he whispered. "Thank you."

He knelt then, and, as he had with the women, kissed Methos' feet.

Methos nearly came himself at the beautiful gesture. He wanted to take Duncan in his arms. The old man had to take a minute before he could move and cross to the bed. "It seems I've tamed a most potent ram, eh, pet?"

He gestured for the Scot to stand at the end of the bed. Using the wide ribbons he'd put in place earlier, he secured Duncan's wrists to the posts. Then his ankles. Leaving him spread wide for his pleasure. Methos grinned to himself. Their pleasure.

Duncan was still just a little shaky. But he thought he could endure more now that he'd been able to come. The drink that had been offered earlier had given him more strength as well but he didn't allow the energy to make him cocky. He stayed submissive.

Methos ran his hands over MacLeod's backside, and carelessly slid a finger between the firm cheeks.

Duncan hissed as he felt the finger and he wiggled to get it in him. That's what he wanted. To have Methos inside of him. What he'd wanted all night long.

"Tell me, pet, did you ever ride one of your women's arse?"

"No, Master," Duncan said, quite honestly. "I've never done that."

He wouldn't have dreamt of it, even with Amanda, even with Kristen.

Methos stopped his stroking. Well. He'd known the Highlander had been a basic vanilla het, but...well. He smiled to himself. He'd never really considered that MacLeod had been a virgin their first time.

Duncan took a sharp breath, aware of the murmurs in the audience, of their appreciation. Now that he was no longer in agony he was aware once again that he and Methos weren't alone. That people had seen everything that he had done so far.

His cock began to tighten again.

Duncan wasn't sure if Methos was pleased with his answer yet or not. He was more worried that his lover was disappointed that he hadn't dared play like that with any of the women in his life. Or maybe he hadn't disappointed him. In fact, Duncan was pretty sure it was what Methos expected of him. He had, after all, played it quite straight before Methos.

Amazing how things change.

Methos walked away from his captive. Over to the gilt chest. He opened it and brought out a unguent jar. The scent of spices arose when the old man removed the lid. He went back to his lover and scooped out a generous amount.

Setting the jar down, he began to massage MacLeod's shoulders. Working the cream in well. Slowly working his way south. From time to time he would stop to nip or kiss. Taking care not to let MacLeod get a sense of what would happen next.

It was a good thing he was tied in place when Methos began to work the soothing cream into his muscles, Duncan decided. If he hadn't been tied, by the time Methos was done with him, he would have fallen into a pile of goo on the floor. As it was, he relaxed against the bonds that held him in place. He was focused in on, attuned, to what was happening to his body. That was all he cared about. He grew harder, too, with each of Methos' nips and kisses and touches. He knew it was too soon to be allowed to come again. He sighed.

Methos could feel the tension leaving his lover. For the moment. The perfume of the sweet-smelling spices rose around them as it warmed on his Highlander's body.

The ancient smiled. The presence they shared made this a truly unique experience. It was as if in touching his lover he touched himself. Yes, it was quite unique.

"Je t'aime," Duncan whispered. Then gasped when his lover reached between his legs and began to fondle his balls and cock. He gasped at both the coolness of the cream, and at so intimate and possessive a touch. He had to struggle for breath.

"Mon amour..." Methos leaned against MacLeod as his lover gasped. He put his right arm around his captive's waist and held him still. With his left he began to tease his lover's opening.

Duncan couldn't move. Methos held him securely. His hands and ankles were bound tightly enough to hamper movement. But the hands on his body were relentless. He writhed as much as he could-- which wasn'tmuch--unable to stand perfectly still and allow his Master's touch go unanswered.

He wanted more of it.

The murmuring in the crowd was heard again. The crowd watching him as he gave into his most wanton side.

After several minutes of erotic torture, Methos had pity on his lover and stroked inside with a well-oiled finger.

Duncan gasped once and wriggled as much as he could. He wanted more of that finger inside of him. He wanted more inside of him. He heard more murmured appreciation from the crowd.

Methos was gentle. Obviously more gentle than his Highlander wanted him to be.

"Still, pet. Be still."

"Master. Master..."

"When I'm ready, not before," the ancient warned the Scot. When he was obeyed, he withrew his finger. Dipped once more into the unguent. This time, he eased two fingers into his lover's greedy bottom.

The Scot knew he didn't dare say anything out loud. Methos had already given him his warning. He stayed still because he was ordered to stay still, His body had taken over. Responding only to Methos' orders. Still, he gasped when Methos withdrew his finger. But managed to keep from speaking. Or moving.

Methos moved his hand back to MacLeod's erection and made sure he had his balls cradled carefully. Then Methos went straight for his lover's prostate and stoked it a half dozen times.

It was enough that Duncan almost cried out.

The only thing that kept his captive from coming again was the tight grip the ancient had on the base of Duncan's penis. Forming a living cockring.

Methos withdrew his fingers again. Took up a towel and wiped his hands. Then he returned to the chest. He took off the pendant he wore. Detached the ruby.

He now held a string of two inch diameter mobe' pearls. He carried it back to the bed and dipped half the strand into the unguent jar. He made sure MacLeod saw what he was preparing.

The Highlander's eyes went wide when he saw Methos dip the pearls into the unguent. He would have turned to  
stare if he could. He knew what Methos was going to do with those pearls. His body responded with need, want, desire. Duncan couldn't believe how badly he wanted it.

Methos smiled at his Highlander and dangled the pearls. But before he did anything else, he pulled the knife from his boot and cut MacLeod's bindings.

"Over the end of the bed, pet." He kicked his lover's legs wide apart. "Like that, my ram. Hold on to the bedding."

Duncan leaned forward and clutched the covers as he had beeninstructed. He'd seen the pearls and his ass suddenly ached to have them inside. It was the most erotic thing he'd ever thought of doing. Or having done. To have something like those inside of him. He still couldn't quite believe that he was doing--all of this--in front of anyone, much less a small crowd. He knew, though, that he loved it. He loved the freedom of being so exposed. Of not being able to hide any part of himself. He loved the freedom of giving over control to Methos. He loved that they'd seen him perform acts here, that they'd seen him debase himself.

He knew this wouldn't be the last time he did this.

Methos positioned the first pearl. And pushed in.

It went into Duncan with a pop, and he gave a moan. The feeling was heady. Wonderful. Filling and fulfilling.

Methos had lovingly prepared his Highlander so the first pearl went in with relative ease. Still, he knew the unusual sensation was having an effect on the Scot. Duncan's moan of pleasure caused Methos' own cock to quiver. And gods, but it did feel like the pearls were  
stretching his own ass. He didn't think anything had ever, ever been quite so intense in his life! MacLeod's moans sent a thrill straight through Methos. He had to stop for just a moment.

"Master..." Duncan moaned. "Master, thank you Master..."

Another and another and another pearl went inside the Highlander. He was filling up. Full of pearls where he had once been filled with water. He tried to move, but stopped because he hadn't been given permission. The feeling, the weight, the whole affect was making him even harder than he had been.

Methos went on until only a dozen of the large pearls were left to dangle in the cleft between the Scot's buttocks. A full twenty-four inches of his lover was filled. Duncan was a little uncomfortable, but not nearly enough to protest.

"Up, pet. On your knees." Methos told him, finally. Then placed him just so on the black faux bearskin rug. A pose that would show the pearls trailing from the Scot's ass. And leave a clear view of what came next.

Duncan moved where his Master wanted him to go and took the position his Master wanted. A position he was sure showed off the remainder of the pearls. He had to push that thought back or he was going to make a mess. Especially since kneeling this way caused the pearls to push against his prostate. He wanted to cry out and come right then and there. He knew he didn't dare to. Methos had not given him permission. And there was no way he was going to mess up and end the scene now. His cock quivered, but he kept it under control.

But the young immortal had to be honest about this. He absolutely loved being so filled, loved the odd sensation of the pearls in his ass, loved the way that Methos had filled him with them.

Duncan stayed submissive, beautifully eloquent in his total surrender to his lover.

The ancient man looked down at his lover. Could see where he had bitten his lips to keep silent.

"*Ciall*, beloved, you may scream, or yell, or moan if you wish. You know I adore the sounds you make.

"But pet, I have something to fill that beautiful mouth of yours. If you want it." The old man began to unlace the front of his breeches.

Duncan's heart beat double time as he thought about getting Methos' cock in his mouth. He absolutely loved that cock.

With a quiet moan Duncan begged silently for permission. For permission to do something he'd been practicing. He nuzzled Methos' hands aside.

Methos moaned as he felt hot breath on his intimate body. He had to reach and grab hold of the Scot's head to steady himself.

The Highlander gently pulled free the knots with his teeth. Pulled the laces through the holes, still using only his teeth. When the cord finally pulled free he held it lightly in his mouth.

As the laces were eased open, Methos's erection became more and more engorged. Finally, the old man moved his lover away, and removed the laces. Ah, and just the perfect things. Methos leaned down and used the leather cord as a cock ring for the Scot. There. Methos stood back up. His crotch was level with MacLeod's head. He knew he wouldn't have to say anything.

He looked into dark chocolate eyes. Eyes dazed by what he was feeling. Nodded just the slightest. He watched to see what his Highlander would do next.

Duncan needed no persuasion. He opened his mouth and took the throbbing flesh within. Greedily, feeling as though he had been given the best and greatest present in the world. He absolutely loved doing this for his lover, He absolutely loved it. Duncan was-- though nobody knew how, not even himself--an expert at this. He made love to Methos' cock with his mouth.

The long-haired man ran his tongue over and down the length of the hard flesh in his mouth, lightly running his teeth along the flesh as well. Occasionally, he sucked inward, just to give it that added bit of finesse. Over and over, and never once did he break his submissive stance. The position his lover put him in before they started.

He quickened his pace just a little since he didn't want to tease Methos. He wanted to make it perfect, to please his lover, to make Methos as happy as he could.

Methos knew without reservation that MacLeod was a fellatio artist. It was as if he had been born to give head. Methos smiled down at the dark curls bobbing at his crotch. The old man hissed his pleasure when the Scot repeated one of his more complicated moves. He could feel his cock twitch. He was going to come. Soon.

Too soon!

He moaned just a little as he pushed himself away from the perfect heat. Perfect suction. Perfect pleasure of his lover's mouth. He hated to do it.

He could feel Duncan's emotions as he withdrew from the talented mouth. His lover felt empty, oddly empty.

Methos saw Duncan watching him as he backed away. His erection rampantly exposed as he turned to rummage in the chest. The old immortal knew how his lover ached for his cock. How much he wanted Methos' cock.

The two women reappeared out of the darkness and helped MacLeod to stand. When they did, the pearls in him shifted and he let out another moan. The feel of the pearls that dangled against his backside made him even harder. He was very grateful for the makeshift cockring.

"I have a present for you, my ram." Methos looked deeply into his lover's eyes. "Do you accept my gift, Duncan," he asked softly.

The Highlander looked up at Methos and swallowed. Duncan looked at the rings, in his lover's hand. Then back up into Methos' face. He nodded once.

"Yes," he said in answer to the question. "I do."

He knew - or was fairly sure - where the gifts were going. And Duncan wanted it.

"Thank you," he said reverently.

This was something they had talked about. A visible sign of possession. The old man had had these rings specially made. They were small, but thick and heavy enough to be constant reminders. They were designed to appear seamless once they were in. Not to mention, they were pure Welsh gold. A whimsy that had tickled Methos. He smiled as one of the women came to disinfect the rings.

"Maybe you should wait until it's done to thank me."

Duncan's breath caught in his throat as he stared over at his lover with absolute trust on his face. They had discussed the rings--and Duncan knew that once they went in, he would never take them out. Immortal healing being what it was, he wasn't sure he'd want to have to constantly get his nipples pierced just to wear the rings.

And he agreed because he wanted the permanent reminder, the constant presence of something that belonged to Methos in his body. To tell the tale to his friends that he forever belonged to his lover.

Methos leaned forward to taste first one, then the other of his lover's nipples. Duncan loved it when Methos did that to him, loved it.

But after a moment the ancient bit down on one red and swollen nipple, and caught the other in a tight pinch.

Duncan wasn't quite prepared for when Methos bit him. He cried out, and his back would have arched if he could have moved enough.

Then, just when Methos reached for the first ring and thrust it clean through a nipple, one of the women reached and pulled two of the pearls out of Duncan's rectum.

A second later the second ring had been installed, and another two pearls removed.

Duncan cried out again, a sound of both pain and pleasure. He moaned,  
gasping as his nipple throbbed around the ring. Then it started again. As his other nipple was pierced through and two more pearls were pulled from his ass. He cried out yet again, the same sound, pleasure, pain, intermixed. The pain sending driving pulses through his cock. He moaned and, once more, thanked his lover for his gift. It was a few more moments before he could breathe right again.

Methos stood back and looked at his handiwork. Then he pulled his lover to rest against his chest.

Duncan leaned his head forward onto Methos' chest and shook for another minute while Methos soothed him, just a little. He had been through so much. So much that he had asked for. And he knew the night wasn't over yet. He didn't want it to be over yet. His healing had kicked in. The throbbing in his nipples began to subside. But the throbbing in another region was still as strong. The pearls in his rectum were still present, though there were a few less now. He could feel the strand that stuck out of his ass moving about his legs.

"You are beautiful beyond words, beloved," Methos whispered.

He felt beautiful. The Scot felt more beautiful now than he had ever felt in his life. Unclothed, open, exposed. His nipples pierced through with the heavy rings. It felt as though he was wearing all of Seacouver on those two points on his body. But it was beautiful. He was loved. So very loved.

Someone handed Adam a refilled goblet, and he held it for his lover to drink. When MacLeod was done, the goblet was filled again. This time Methos shared sips.

"Now, my pet," Methos said when the second goblet was done. "Time for your first act as my body-slave." He stood and moved away and spread his arms wide.

"You may undress me..."

Duncan nodded and stepped toward his Master. He was careful. As he uncovered a section of his Master's body he worshiped it with his eyes, going as far as the boundaries of a submissive allowed. As each piece of clothing was removed, he carefully folded it. Making sure that it would not crease where it shouldn't, and laid it on a chair beside the chest.

He bowed his head humbly when he was done, once more in complete submission to his Master

Methos did nothing to help his lover except to lift his feet when his boots and breeches were removed.

His eyes followed MacLeod as he handled everything carefully. Folding things just so and laying them away. When he was done, Methos could barely contain himself.

What a treasure he had in his lover. The trust--absolute trust--they shared was unlike any relationship he'd ever had. Save one. Methos thought of another ancient immortal and smiled. Perhaps one day he would introduce Duncan to her.

Then the old man led his Scot over to the bed. Someone had already removed the coverlets. Methos climbed in and lay back on the pillows and bolster. "Come to me, pet. We're not done quite yet. Show me that I've tamed my Highland ram..."

Duncan smiled at his lover. The man who owned him in almost every way a man could be owned by another individual. He wanted Methos so badly that he could barely see straight. His cock throbbed constantly from need. Just the sight of Methos lying asprawl on the bed was so beautiful made it made him throb even harder.

Methos sprawled back and bent one leg. Smiled seductively as his lover approached. The ancient man's cock throbbed. Soon, very soon.

Wondering if Methos knew how he looked laying there, Duncan's mouth went dry again. He looked at Methos' throbbing cock and he wanted it.

He wanted to surrender.

But then he stopped. He took a step back away from the bed.

Methos' smile faded.

The Scot turned away from the ancient immortal.

Methos frowned. The Highlander was going to run!

The oldest man on Earth sprang from the bed and hit MacLeod squarely in the back. Drove the Scot to his knees on the faux bearskin rug. There was a brief wrestling match, but it was over quickly.

Duncan had put on a good show of struggling to try and get away. But that was all it was--a good show. He wanted to be caught. He wanted to be claimed and tamed. For some reason, though, he wanted to be paddled until he couldn't breathe. Until he was crying out for Methos to stop. Only he wouldn't.

Methos opened his mouth to yell for his guards, but when he looked up, one of the women was standing there holding out a handful of silk ribbon. And a paddle.

The old man nodded, and the woman disappeared again.

"So, my ram's not so tame after all," Methos growled out. He leaned a knee into MacLeod's back. Pinning him down as he bound his hands again. Then he dragged him up.

"That was a stupid thing to do, pet," he said menacingly. He jerked his captive over to the bed and pushed him over the end. Buttocks high in the air. With the tail of pearls dangling between them.

Duncan had squirmed as Methos bound his hands. But he stoically took his place as Methos laid him on the bed. With his ass sticking up, pearls streaming down the crack of his buttocks.

Yes! This was what he wanted.

He wanted to feel what it would be like to be spanked with those pearls still in his ass. It would be a strong, heady, feeling. And he wanted it, badly. He had never even imagined anything could feel like those pearls. And now he wanted to explore them fully.

His struggles were futile - he knew they would be. He struggled though, to make the game better, to heighten the emotions. His body cried for surrender. But he couldn't. Yet.

He awaited the first blow onto his ass.

The paddle was new. Slightly larger than a table tennis paddle. It had been specially crafted by a friend of Ayla's. The handle fit Methos' hand perfectly. It had two interesting features. One side was covered with butter-soft chamois. The other with raised stars.

Methos went to the side of the bed and grabbed a handful of MacLeod's long hair. "You've displeased me, pet. Trying to escape." The old man spoke softly, but menacingly.

He showed his captive the paddle. "You will submit."

Then he moved back behind his Highlander. Smiling, he readied himself for the first blow. Waiting until he could feel his lover pulsing with dread. And excitement. Anticipation.

He knew what he wanted. Methos would give it to him. Eventually.

But first the ancient was going to make him pay. The first twenty strokes were everywhere but directly on his lover's ass. Some with the chamois side. Some with the embossed side.

Duncan squirmed beneath the blows. Blows that seemed to land everywhere but where he wanted them to land. The chamois side was smoother but no less painful than the embossed side. And still, each blow by his skilled lover landed only on his upper buttocks, or on his thighs. He was squirming after the tenth blow but he refused to make a sound, even though he longed to scream.

Methos could hear the gasps and groans from the audience as he worked methodically.

Soon the backs of MacLeod's thighs, and his upper buttocks were a flaming red.

The old man waited for the magic moment when his captive would truly submit.

Finally, Duncan had all he could take--or at least all he could take in that way.

"Please, Master," he cried out, squirming even harder. His bound hands made it impossible for him to get enough leverage to raise again from the position he was in - that had to have been planned by his Master. "Please, please, Master, please. On my ass, please."

Methos stopped. Sweat shown on his smooth pale body. He ran his free hand through his hair. It was getting long again. He moved slowly. Like some big, stalking cat to the side of the bed. He studied his lover for a moment.

So, that was what he wanted. Square on his bottom with the pearls still inside of him. The idea made Methos quiver.

"Please." Duncan's voice caught in his throat as he begged. pleaded, with his master to give him what he wanted. "Please Master. On my ass, please. Please."

The ancient man twisted his hand in his captive's hair and raised the Highlander's head.

"Louder, MacLeod. Louder. What do you want?"

His legs hurt. Flamed. And his upper buttocks too. But he still hadn't gotten what he wanted. Duncan was ready to promise to do anything--anything at all--if his lover would just give him what he wanted. The two things he wanted. He was almost to the point where he wanted to come very badly again. His cock strained underneath him as he laid there, submitting to the sweet torture of the paddle.

"Master, Please!" he cried out, louder this time. He didn't care who heard him. "My ass, master, please, please, paddle my ass!"

It was what he wanted, what he needed.

He repeated it again, a little louder. Over and over. Tears streamed down his face as he begged for more.

Methos reached out and caught a single tear. He brought it to his mouth and delicately tongued the drop away.

Then he bent forward and took possession of his lover's mouth in a searing kiss. One that promised love. Faithfulness. Passion. Eternity.

"Yes, Duncan," he whispered. "Whatever you want, beloved."

Methos kissed him again to seal his promise, then went back to the end of the bed.

"Ready, my pet?" The ancient proceeded to place another twenty well-spaced blows exactly where his lover wanted-- needed--them most.

The experience was heady. Absolutely one of the most sensational things that Duncan had ever felt in his life. The Highlander cried out, he moaned, he jerked just a little, all the while begging Methos to hit him harder. To please not stop. To keep going. The pearls rubbed him on the inside, jutting up against his prostate, making him even harder than he had been.

Tears streamed down his cheeks but he had not felt better before in his life--except for the first time with Methos.

"Done!"

Methos backed off and dropped the paddle to the floor. Sweat was streaming off of him. He panted from his exertions.

But, oh god, it had been worth it. God, it had been worth it!

There was no way the ancient could have - would have - imagined that Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod would be the best sub he'd ever had.

And then there had been the link. Every sensation, he had felt. The sting of the paddle. The pleasure-pain of pierced nipples rubbing on the sheet. The ribbons cutting into wrists as he writhed in exquisite ecstasy.

The pearls. The old man almost came just from the sense-memory.

The Highlander had moaned, pleaded, begged. Shouted at him. And Methos had given him what he wanted with every ounce of love he had for the man.

Each act, each movement, each touch by Methos set Duncan's senses more on fire than the last. He was flying, orbiting somewhere around Pluto or something. He moaned with pleasure, with need, with desire. With, frankly, exhaustion. He was almost jelly but he didn't want it to end even now.

Methos went to the side of the bed and looked at his lover. MacLeod was flying. He grinned down at him. The old man sat beside him, and rubbed his back for a moment. Then he rolled him over. Repositioned him on the bed. Brushed his sweat-soaked hair off his face.

"Open your eyes, *ciall*. Look at me."

Duncan's brown eyes opened when he was ordered to open them and he looked up at his lover.

Methos leaned forward and kissed the lush mouth. "Almost done, lamb," he said softly. He kissed his lover again. Then pressed more kisses down his throat and across his smooth chest.

He stopped to toy with the ringed nipples. Flipping them with his tongue. Nipping gently.

Down the rippled abdomen, he licked and nibbled. Again he stopped to release the bound hands and move them to MacLeod's sides. A tacit order that they were to remain there.

Duncan didn't need a warning to keep his hands at his sides. It would be hard, a test of willpower and control, but he'd keep them right there.

Methos got up. Moved to the end of the bed and crawled between his captive's thighs. Spreading them wide. He groaned, just looking at his Highlander. Debauched. Beautiful. His.

Duncan squirmed slightly as Methos moved down to the end of the bed then worked his way up again.

Leaning forward, the old man gave the pearls a little tug. Not removing them. Only providing a little more stimulation.

A move that sent more pleasure into Duncan's already straining cock. He moaned as he watched Methos, Would he... "Oh, blessed Mary!!!"

Smiling at the reaction he got, Methos moved in and took his lover's weeping cock into his mouth.

Duncan sucked in his breath and clutched at the bedsheets under his hands--more to keep them in place than anything else.

It was more exquisite torture with the makeshift cockring in place--yet he was content to be tortured. For the pleasure that came with it could send him flying again.

A long, ragged, shattering breath came from between Duncan's lips as Methos sucked his lover's cock. He managed to lay still, only from great will-power. And from very good training. But he was clenching the covers underneath him with both hands, drawing them up into his fists.

Methos took a long taste of his lover. Then he drew back and reached out to take the steely shaft in both hands. He caressed the foreskin back. Leaned in again and delicately nipped along the underside of MacLeod's cock. Feeling the erratic pulse of his lover.

Duncan had never felt anything like what Methos' was doing to his cock right then. The sucking, the nips, going to his balls and back, all the different things he did was making him harder and harder. He thought his cock just might explode--not from coming, but explode into a million little bits.

The ancient teased the flesh between the binding. Then began to work it loose with his teeth.

He stopped. And went back to sucking. Drawing in his captive's cock until he was nestled nose into pelvic bone. Moved back to twirl his tongue around the glans.

The old man did this several times before he let loose the Scot's erection, and reached again for the pearls. He toyed with them. Tugging gently at first. Then with more force until one popped out.Then a second.

Without waiting for his captive to settle down, Methos began to lick Duncan's freshly shaved balls. Nuzzling them from side to side in their crepe-skinned sac.

Then he drew away again. He looked into MacLeod's face. "Breathe deep, *ciall*, remember. Wait. Wait to come. You'll know when..."

Methos unwound the binding and finally freed his lover's cock. Swooped down and drew it back into his mouth. Took it far back into his throat.

With a steady pressure he quickly pulled out the last six pearls.

Now, beloved. Come for me. He knew his lover would feel that permission had been granted.

Duncan lost all the control he had. He cried out, wordless, almost mindless yells as he came.

Methos drank deep of his lover. Every bit of his Highlander's essence.

Duncan moaned as he shuddered out the last of his come into Methos' mouth. He collapsed back onto the bed, almost completely spent. There was no way he could have anything left, no way at all. But he had not missed the fact that Methos had had no relief.

His lover's cries were like music to the ancient man. At last he allowed the spent cock to slip from between his lips as the Scot collapsed. Then he raised himself and leaned up to place a tender kiss on MacLeod's mouth. Letting him taste himself on Methos' lips.

He touched his captive's face gently. "That was beautiful, beloved." Then once more he kissed a path down the magnificent body.

Moving back between MacLeod's thighs, he reached for the unguent jar again. This time he used the salve to coat his own straining, weeping erection.

Duncan felt himself moved and resituated. Watched languidly as his lover coated his own erection. Soon. Soon. Ah, God, soon!

He cried aloud, groaned, as he felt himself try to harden again when Methos pulled his buttocks onto his own thighs. As he was spread wide and breached. Methos' cock driving in relentlessly until it was fully sheathed. Duncan would have sworn he had nothing left. Yet his body knew better than his mind as it responded to the hard length that filled him more intimately than anything ever had.

Methos luxuriated in the heat of his lover.

"You're mine, my ram. You know that, don't you?"

Duncan made a low whining sound. "Yes, Master," Duncan whispered. "I'm yours. I'm yours, Master." He wanted Methos to move, he needed Methos to move.

Methos grinned, then he began to move. Slowly, steadily. Stopping when he came close. He had no intention of coming any time soon.

Taking a shuddering breath, Duncan relished the feel of that thick, hard shaft moving in and out of him. But things were going much too slowly for his desires. He cried out again, trying to urge his lover to greater speeds.

Methos decided to give his lover something else to concentrate on. He took MacLeod's semi-flacid cock and began stroking it again.

As he'd expected, the Scot moaned. Clutched once more at the sheets underneath him.

"I want you to come again for me, *ciall*. Come for me again."

He continued to cajole his captive as he slowly fucked him.

Duncan cried out, over and over again, begging, moaning. But Methos wasn't going to hurry.

Slowly. Gently, Methos withdrew from the Highlander's ass. Pushing back agonizing slow until he was full in. Then ending with a sharp thrust that caused his balls to slap aginst MacLeod's arse. Methos was fighting for control every second.

Slow. Out. Until only the head of his cock remainded in his lover'sbody.

He was almost undone by the moans of his captive. The cries that fell from those lucious lips. The entreaties for more. Faster. Harder. Did the Scot even know he was begging?

No matter. Methos wasn't ready. Yet.

The old man watched MacLeod. Watched how his lover moved against him. Arched his head back, exposing his beautifully vulnerable neck. He saw how hands had bunched and twisted the sheets.

Yes. Oh yes! He grasped the Highlander's renewed erection.

He stopped. Completely. Still buried in MacLeod.

"You're mine. You do as I wish. As I command." Methos leaned forward. "I'm going to finish now, *ciall*. When I come, I want you to come with me."

"Yes, Master," the Highlander gasped. "Yes, Master, yes, Master. I'm yours, Master. I'm yours..."

His slave. His body slave. His anything his Master wanted.

The ancient man began to move again. Only this time there wasnothing slow or gentle. He was ramming--hard--inside Duncan while his lover cried out again, nearly sobbing. He pounded relentlessly until he felt the coiling low in his belly. Then the release as he orgasmed and poured himself into his beloved.

Duncan was in subspace. Sent there by the pain. The joy. The freedom he was experiencing. Then Duncan was coming, his seed fountaining over his own belly.

Methos would have collaspsed had they been at home. But he couldn't end the scene like that.

Disengaging as gently as he could, he shifted back onto his knees. He ran his fingers lovingly over Duncan's chest. Spreading semen over his nipples, then delicately licking it off.

Duncan was totally exhausted. Immortal healing couldn't help him fast enough if Methos had anything else in mind. Not that he wouldn't do his best, of course. He always did when Methos asked. But Duncan was wasted. Flying, soaring high. Absolutely exhilarated.

Finally, Methos moved beside his lover and pulled him into a close embrace. "You did it, beloved," he whispered. "You were perfect."

"Thank you," the younger immortal whispered back. "Thank you." He knew that Methos wasn't giving him idle comments. He'd been perfect. He hadn't known if he could really do it. Before. But he wouldn't have changed any of it.

"You were perfect," he whispered. He couldn't speak any louder. "You were better than perfect, Methos."

Methos continued to soothe his Highlander as the lights slowly faded. As their audience was led away.

Ayla looked back. Smiled. Then closed the door.

Finally, Methos leaned up on an elbow and studied his lover's face. Placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "No. No. I'm just old. With lots of experience. It was all you, *ciall*."

He watched his lover for a moment. "You're wiped out, love," he said softly. He ran a finger over the Scot's lips.

"I know you don't want to move, Duncan. But Ayla has a guest suite we can use. It has a nice double shower, and a king size bed."

It also had a galley. With a refrigerator full of restorative drinks and enough food for ten Highlanders. Methos knew his lover would be ravenous once he came out of subspace.

"Come on, Mac. Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you?"

"Mmm," Duncan said. It took him another moment before he realized what Methos had said to him and he turned his head slowly to look over at his lover.

"Oh, ah," he said as he struggled to sit up. He was still flying, but he was pretty sure he could still walk--and fly--at the same time.

"A shower would be good," he said informatively. "I'm sticky."

He grinned at his lover and leaned on him. He wasn't sure he had the strength to actually walk all that way, or however far, on his own. But his Methos was there to prop him up, right? He giggled. His Methos. "I love you, Methos," Duncan said to the old man as he got his feet steady under him.

"I love you too, Duncan."

End


End file.
